William Sinclair Manson

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My-Poetry / Writings · 28 May 2022

My Poetry. Dark Dreams.

Cold beads of sweat running down my brow
tossing and turning all night
impossible to awaken from a coma like state
suffering the terrors of fright.
What makes our brain imagine things?
you would probably never experience for real
perhaps you were an actor in a previous life
because everything here you can feel.
People you can picture some have names
others come and go in the scene
its always the ones you can never imagine
in your everyday life they have been.
Carried on to memory like a taped account
only to be used when asleep
if awake you could possibly control them
and the horrible things you could keep.
Perhaps it’s something you dealt with that day?
or at a time you felt at your worst
bad things brought on by unpleasant memories
right now, all you feel is you’re cursed.
When you awake in the morning you often find 
The covers are like a bombarded shelter
whilst trying to remember what your dream was about
your brain is on a fast helter-skelter
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